


Finding Your Place in the World

by the_sky_is_forever



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 07:32:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6070605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sky_is_forever/pseuds/the_sky_is_forever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an Omega turns eighteen, they must be taken as a mate on their first day. To be unclaimed is to be degraded, to be thought of as worthless, and to ruin the family name. These tarnished Omegas have no hopes of finding a family.<br/>Seventeen, and with only a few weeks left of life without an Alpha, Enjolras is scared. He’s scared because he might not get an Alpha. He’s scared because he might.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Your Place in the World

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, Grantaire has suffered in an abusive relationship in the past, including being raped. This is not discussed in graphic detail, nor is any such behaviour "on screen", but it is talked about and it did happen.  
> This fic deals with Grantaire's following emotional instability and as such there are some potentially triggering moments.  
> Also, Enjolras has a couple of anxiety and panic attacks during the fic. They are momentary and he is talked down from each one gently. Still, if that is likely to trigger you, read with caution.
> 
> On a lighter note, I cannot believe I actually wrote an A/B/O fic, that's wild. Never saw myself here, if I'm honest.  
> Hope you like it, it's not as depressing as this opening note has made it seem, I just don't want to accidentally upset people.
> 
> oh and i almost forgot:  
> there are no mating cycles or knotting or rutting or sex at all in this fic because a) i don’t really like writing smut and b) i also feel like the whole mating like an animal thing doesn’t really give room for asexuality or any variation of asexuality and i’m not really a fan of that sorry if that’s what you’re looking for  
> (no disrespect is meant to people who are into that or write that I have read a lot of fics where that is used really well and kudos to those people it’s just not something I’m comfortable writing)

_Grit your teeth, pull your hair, paint the walls black and scream, “Fuck the world. ‘Cause it’s my life, I’m gonna take it back.”_

 

Every Omega spends the first eighteen years of their life being paraded around and shown off to innumerous Alphas, in the hopes that, one day, they will be remembered and taken away as a mate. Even as babies, they are held and kissed and petted by Alphas. It’s tradition.

When an Omega turns eighteen, they must be taken as a mate on their first day. To be unclaimed is to be degraded, to be thought of as worthless, and to ruin the family name. These tarnished Omegas have no hopes of finding a family.

So, while it is true that Enjolras loathed being shown off to rich and famous Alphas, that doesn’t mean he’s ready for it to come to an end. Seventeen, and with only a few weeks left of life without an Alpha, Enjolras is scared. He’s scared because he might not get an Alpha. He’s scared because he might.

Ahead of him is life as a spinster or life as arm candy for a flashy Alpha. He’s not sure which is worse: to be kept as a spouse, most likely having nothing to do but be pretty for his Alpha is abhorrent to him, but the alternative is to be shunned.

With this in mind, Enjolras flees his home for the day, desperate to find solitude and be able to _think_ without his mother or father dragging him here and there to meet all sorts of Alphas.

The city is beautiful, Enjolras knows this, but this is the first time he’s been out here by himself, and the beauty is overshadowed by fear. He doesn’t know his way around the city, and he doesn’t have an Alpha with him. He loathes the fact that if he had one, he’d be safer, but that’s how it is. There’s nothing he can do about that.

Instinctively, he flinches away from every Alpha that passes him in the street, but hardly any even give him a second glance. For once, he’s grateful that he doesn’t look his age – perhaps they all think him a young Omega, years from mating age. He supposes that if they knew it was only a matter of weeks, he wouldn’t be able to breathe from Alphas all over him.

Reaching a bar that looks relatively safe, he goes in, looking for somewhere to sit and rest his feet. Inside, it’s warm and peaceful, though there’s a group in the corner whose voices sometimes rise until one of them reminds the others to keep it down. Enjolras watches them from his seat, and from what he can tell there are five Alphas, two Betas, and four Omegas. A few smell mated, but most seem single, which is odd, since they are older than him, but given that most are Alphas, it’s not so unusual. Alphas can stay unmated as long as they desire without judgement. Enjolras envies them.

One of them catches him looking – an Alpha – and Enjolras quickly ducks his head, staring down at the table and wishing he’d brought a book. The Alpha comes over to him, and Enjolras can’t bring himself to look, but he refuses to twist his head the way he’s been taught, baring the neck and showing submission. He merely keeps his eyes cast down.

“Hello, little Omega,” the Alpha says, with a smile. They don’t seem threatening. “How old are you?”

Enjolras doesn’t know what answer the Alpha wants, so he decides to tell the truth. “Seventeen,” he tells them.

The Alpha seems intrigued. Enjolras peeks up through his eyelashes, cautiously. “You can look at me, I won’t hurt you,” the Alpha promises. “Why don’t you have an Alpha with you?”

“I- I ran away,” Enjolras confesses, feeling himself go red as he forces himself to look the Alpha in the eye.

The Alpha smiles. “Why would you do that?” They seem genuinely curious.

Enjolras tugs at the hem of his shirt, anxiously. “I’m nearly eighteen. They wouldn’t leave me alone.”

The Alpha says, “Would you like to come sit with us?”

Enjolras lowers his eyes automatically. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t be,” the Alpha says. “I’m inviting you.”

“Why?” Enjolras asks, voice defiant while his body language screams submission.

The Alpha grins. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to mate with you,” they say. The Alpha points over to the table they came from. “Do you see the Omega with freckles and long-ish ginger hair? He’s seventeen. I’m waiting for him.”

Enjolras peeks in the direction indicated, and sees the Omega that the Alpha spoke of. Enjolras gets to his feet. “Alright then,” he says.

The Alpha puts their hand on the small of Enjolras’ back – Enjolras has to fight the urge to flinch away – and guides him over to the table. Once there, the Alpha gets the groups attention and declares, “I have adopted an Omega for the day. Introduce yourself, little Omega.”

Enjolras blushes under the attention of so many Alphas. He can’t lift his eyes, he just can’t. “I’m- I’m Enjolras.”

The Alpha beams at him. “Good,” they praise. “I’m Cosette, by the way. Come sit by me and then everyone else can introduce themselves. Oh, refer to me by she and her. What pronouns do you use?”

Enjolras pauses. “I- He and him, I suppose.”

She smiles in response, pulling out a chair for him to sit down on.

The Omega sitting on her other side says, “I’m Marius. I’m an Omega, too. He/him.”

Enjolras smiles, shyly, very aware of the other Alpha sitting next to him, who’s rather large and intimidating. There’s no way Enjolras could win against them in a fight. Enjolras’ skin prickles. He can’t look at their face, so he doesn’t know if they’re smiling or glaring or even looking at him in a predatory way, as some Alphas do. He can’t gauge his safety. All he knows is that the Alpha has a good few inches on him height wise and is much stockier. Enjolras turns his attention back to the rest of the group, trying to put the Alpha out of his mind.

Next up is another Omega, who announces that they are, “Bahorel. I belong to this one, here,” elbowing a slight Alpha in the side, who looks down at the Omega fondly. “Please use they/them pronouns for me,” Bahorel finishes, with a friendly smile – Omega to Omega

Enjolras tries to smile, but struggles. They seem happy, but the thought of belonging to anybody makes him want to be sick.

Next up is Bahorel’s Alpha, Jehan. Jehan has been Bahorel’s Alpha for almost five years, now, and mated with them when they weren’t even eighteen yet. Enjolras is horrified by this news, and can’t help gaping in shock at the pair, who don’t seem phased in the slightest. They must have been shunned from their families for this, and yet they both seem content with one another. Jehan proudly implores Enjolras to refer to xem with xe/xem pronouns. Enjolras has never heard of these before, but internally he swears to himself that he’ll never forget.

After Jehan comes Combeferre. “Hi, I’m Combeferre. I’m an Alpha, and I’m mated to that Beta over there. She/her pronouns, please.”

‘That Beta over there’ turns out to be a delightful man named Courfeyrac, who is filled with excitement and almost succeeds at making Enjolras smile just by saying hello.

After Courfeyrac comes Feuilly. “Feuilly. Beta,” Feuilly says. “He/him.” Then he falls back into silence. Enjolras is curious as to why he said so little, when all his friends seem able to talk for days.

Next is Joly, an Alpha who’s holding the hands of two Omegas. The Alpha introduces all three of them, which makes Enjolras bristle, but doesn’t seem to bother the Omegas. “I’m Joly,” the Alpha says. “Please use they/them, for me. This,” they hold up one of the hands, “is Musichetta, one of my Omegas. She/her pronouns. This,” they hold up the other hand, “is my other Omega, Bossuet. He/him pronouns.”

Enjolras hates everything about the introduction – the way the Alpha has ‘claimed’ two Omegas feels wrong enough, but the way they speak for them makes Enjolras feel truly horrible. Is that what his life is going to be in a matter of weeks? Sitting quietly beside his Alpha, unable to join in conversation and give his opinion? Unable to even tell people his own name? He shifts in his seat, and the large Alpha sitting beside him looks down at him with a frown. Enjolras freezes, swallowing and trying to hide his discomfort.

After those three, the only one left is the intimidating one, who is making Enjolras feel less safe by the second. Enjolras keeps his eyes fixed on the table. The Alpha clears their throat. They say, “Hello.” Then they wait, clearly expecting a response.

Enjolras manages a, “Hello,” in reply.

The Alpha says, “Look at me when I talk to you, please.”

Enjolras tries to, he really does, but he can’t seem to bring his eyes above the collar of the Alpha. He’s scared stiff. The Alpha sighs, sounding irritated, and the noise makes Enjolras panic, fearing a scolding. He forces himself to meet the Alpha’s eyes. The Alpha smiles, and it’s a gentle, kind smile that makes Enjolras stare helplessly. “Thank you,” the Alpha says. “My name’s Grantaire, and, as you can no doubt tell, I’m an Alpha. I’m sorry for forcing you to look at me, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me, but I don’t want you to ‘submit’; it makes _me_ extremely uncomfortable. Pronouns: I prefer he/him, but am okay with they/them if people prefer. Joly does, but Courf, for example, doesn’t.” Grantaire smiles down at Enjolras.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Enjolras says. Every instinct in him is screaming at him to look away, but he won’t. He was told not to by an Alpha. If he looks away, it won’t end well. Enjolras feels almost sick with nerves and fear.

Someone says, quietly, “R, you’re scaring him.”

“Shit,” Grantaire says, as understanding floods his eyes, and he reaches out for Enjolras. Enjolras’ whole body jerks backwards, and his eyes drop to the floor, turning his head to bare his neck automatically. He’s at war, mentally, stuck between the instinctual need to submit for Alphas, and the need to obey Grantaire’s command to look at him. Grantaire growls in what could be frustration but to Enjolras simply sounds angry and annoyed, and Enjolras is terrified. Enjolras whines. Grantaire pushes away from the table and stalks off, and Enjolras feels sick.

No one seems to know what to say, and Enjolras keeps his head lowered. His first time out alone and he’s managed to thoroughly piss off an Alpha. After a moment of silence, in which Enjolras shakes in his seat, Cosette says, “He’s been through a lot. It’s… It’s messed up and complicated. He doesn’t mean to be like that.”

Enjolras forces himself to swallow and nod, sharply. “I should go,” he says. He starts to get to his feet, but Cosette grabs his wrist and looks at him intently.

“Enjolras,” she says. “No one but you gets to decide your life. Do you understand? No one but you.”

He nods again, and she lets go of him. He tries to smile at the others. “It was nice to meet you.”

They all smile back at him, responding in kind, and a few apologise for Grantaire again. Enjolras tries to tell them that it’s fine, but they won’t accept that, and they must be able to tell how shaken he is. He flees the bar.

+

Three weeks later, Enjolras sits on a chair in his bedroom, dolled up in ribbons and make-up, hair shiny and lustrous. He stares at himself in the mirror before him, hating everything that he can see. He looks nothing like himself. Today, the Alphas that his father has invited are to come to his house and one of them will take him away. One of them will choose him and take him.

He hates the make-up that makes him look even paler than he already is, a desirable aspect in an Omega, showing that they’ve never had to work outdoors a day in their life (which Enjolras has always found horribly racist anyway, let alone degrading). The red lipstick makes his lips look big and plump – kissable, one of the maids had said, making him feel sick to his very core. His hair is pulled back from his face, so as not to hide his beauty, but the long, blond curls are still very much shown off.   

He hates the clothes that he wears, tight leggings, and a top that is form-fitting, showing his slightness, one ribbon tied around his neck in a bow – like he’s a present, he acknowledges, bitterly – and he has ribbons around his wrists and in his hair that flows down around his face, pretty curls. On his feet are shoes that he had to practice walking in when he turned thirteen. Now, he can walk in them without a second thought, but he hates the way they pinch his toes and rub at his heels, making his feet sore when he finally gets to take the damned shoes off.

Someone knocks on his door, and then enters without waiting for his permission. His mother stands in the doorway. An Omega herself, she must know how he feels right now.

“I bet you’re very excited aren’t you?” she says.

Perhaps she doesn’t. Not a single part of Enjolras is excited, right now. He’s all nerves, fear, and dread. He doesn’t want to be auctioned off. He doesn’t _want_ to be an Alpha’s Omega. He doesn’t want, he doesn’t want, he doesn’t want. He stays silent as she smiles at him – the smile doesn’t reach her blank eyes – and swans over to straighten the bow around his neck. He feels like he can’t breathe. He doesn’t want this.

“My eighteenth was such a wonderful day,” she informs him, looking at him in the mirror, standing behind him, hands on his shoulders. He’s the only person in the world that she’s above. Even her own servants have more rights, all Betas. An ugly feeling settles in his stomach. He looks innocent, _pure_ , and it makes his stomach turn. “You know, your father had to fight another Alpha to take me,” she says, as though he should _want_ to people to act like animals in their desperation to bed him. “It was very dramatic. My mother was thrilled.”

Enjolras has only met his grandmother once, and he’s never met his grandmother’s Omega. She doesn’t seem like a nice woman, and his opinion is lower than it could be ever since he found out the reason he’s never met her Omega. It transpires that she doesn’t believe in Omegas socialising. They belong in a house, where they can’t cause trouble or begin to think themselves above their station. (She gave Enjolras a sharp look when she’d said that, merely for existing and sometimes going outside.)

He hums, simply to show that he is listening to her story.

“He was nothing like I’d ever imagined my Alpha would be,” she then muses, still smiling plainly. “He was- well, different. Do you have any expectations for your Alpha?” (Always smiling.)

 _I expect I’ll hate them_ , he almost says. “No, mother. As long as they look after me, that is all an Omega is to expect,” he replies, insipidly. The words make him want to be sick.

“You’re going to make an Alpha very happy, dear Enjolras. You’re the perfect Omega.”

Of course, she doesn’t know about how he slipped away to see the city on his own. She doesn’t know how the idea of being mated with someone he doesn’t love or want makes him shudder internally. She doesn’t see the way he cries into his pillows on nights where he thinks about how, after today, he won’t be allowed to make his own decisions, talk whenever he wants, dress the way _he_ wants. How he sobs at the thought of lying back and letting his Alpha touch him, kiss him, enter him. How he can feel a scream building in the back of his throat every time he’s paraded past another Alpha, and has to stay still as the Alpha caresses his face, his throat, his sides.

The door opens. “The Alphas are ready for the Omega,” a nameless stranger says. His father enters the room, holding out an arm for Enjolras to take. The Omega’s current owner passing him on to the next.

Enjolras rises to his feet, unable to meet his reflections gaze, and slips his arm through his fathers. He’s lead from the room, feet moving on autopilot as his Omega mother follows them. He can smell the Alphas. He wants to vomit. He feels too warm, all hot and bothered, body numb. He won’t let himself cry. He blinks, to clear his eyes of tears.

The doors open before them, and Enjolras is mostly-pulled into the room of Alphas, family members, family friends, and spectators. There are six Alphas here today in the hopes of taking him home with them. They stand tall, proud, dressed fashionably. Enjolras feels small and helpless as their eyes fix on him. He sees a few of them breathe in deeply, scenting him across the room.

Enjolras’ father takes him over to a raised dais. The Alpha says, “Welcome, friends, to the claiming of my son Enjolras. Trusted Alphas, today I will give to you something that is precious to me. I have invited you, knowing that you are good Alphas, able to take care of yourself, your future Omega, and any potential family. By the time the clock strikes midnight, signalling the second day of this Omega’s adultship, I expect one of you to have claimed him. Good luck to all, and please, enjoy your evening.”

Enjolras is hardly aware of what is happening as he’s helped down off the dais, onto the polished wooden floor of the grand hall. He’s immediately swept away by an Alpha, who takes his arm and spins him round, before bowing deeply and declaring himself to be one Tholomyès. Enjolras manages a smile, but only just. He bows back, a slight curve of his back, combined with the incline of his head to bare his throat, as he has been forced to practise.

Tholomyès smiles in what can only be approval.

All six Alphas take their turn at wooing Enjolras, and Enjolras can smell on them all that they desperately want him. He can smell their desire, and their anger at the other Alphas. They already act territorial of him, when he doesn’t yet belong to any of them.

No one has yet tried to claim him, but there’s still plenty of time. Perhaps there will be a fight over him, too, he thinks tiredly as an Alpha holds out a strawberry between thumb and forefinger for him to eat. Obediently, he takes the strawberry between his teeth and bites down, eating the juicy berry as the Alpha leers at him. He can’t remember this one’s name. Magendentelle, he thinks. Or was that the other blonde?

Oh, he no longer cares. He’s been offered drink after drink from the Alphas, and his mind is fuzzy now.

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He-

“I claim this Omega!” an Alpha roars, grabbing Enjolras wrist and pulling him against him, Omega’s back to Alpha’s chest. Enjolras doesn’t know which it was that declared thus.

Enjolras cares. He cares a lot. He _doesn’t want this._ “No,” he says, but it’s only a hoarse whisper. Enjolras’ father is approaching.

“Tholomyès,” Enjolras’ father says, smiling. Then he turns to the rest of the room. “Does anyone challenge this Alpha’s right to claim this Omega?”

No one speaks, though a few of the other Alphas make aborted movements, or glare angrily. Enjolras can feel Tholomyès – chest to back, arms wrapped tightly around his front, a chin that rests on top of his head, lips that come down to kiss his temple – Enjolras screams. “No!” he cries, trying to pull away, and now the tears come, now, blood soaked with alcohol, life threatened, now Enjolras cries. He sobs, wails, screams. “No! I don’t want you. I don’t want you!”

The hall is deadly silent save for Enjolras dreadful screams. Tholomyès’ hold on him is unrelenting. Enjolras strains and struggles and screams. Enjolras’ father is white-faced and shocked, but Enjolras can’t care for that right now.

Enjolras’ Alpha – no, no – Tholomyès growls and grabs Enjolras wrists to turn him round to face him. Enjolras cringes away from the Alpha’s anger, still trying to pull free. “No?” Tholomyès asks, fury written across his face. “ _No_?”

“No!” Enjolras screams. He shouts, “No one gets to decide my life but me!”

There is a terrible silence that follows his words, the type of silence that is sequestered by a storm. The Alpha looks horribly mad. Enjolras feels small and frail, but his words are his saviour.

“Do you hear me?” he asks the Alpha, his father, everyone in the room. “No one but me.”

He wrenches his hands from the Alpha’s grasp, taking advantage of his shock. With one hand he pulls free the ribbon from around his neck, and with the other he wipes the lipstick on his mouth sideways, smudging it and rendering his face a mess.  The red stains his skin. His eyes are wide with a mixture of fear, fury, and pure ecstasy. He feels free.

_Free._

(Not yet.)

“Enjolras,” his father growls, low, angry. “ _What_ are you doing?”

Enjolras mouth forms a twisted grin. “Making sure no Alpha ever _dares_ to presume that they might _own_ me.” He barks a laugh. “I’m ridding myself of this.”    He tears the ribbons from his wrist, kicks off the ridiculous shoes and marches straight through the crowd of shocked Alphas, Betas, and Omegas. No one tries to stop him as he pushes open the doors, goes to his room, packs a bag hastily, and then leaves.

He leaves the house he grew up in, he leaves the only home he’s ever known, he _leaves_.

+

Enjolras is out on the street, alone. He sits on a doorstep, his bare feet freezing, and he is happy. He’s shivering, and he doesn’t have much in the way of possessions, and now he’s an unclaimed Omega. He watches as a public clock passes midnight, declaring him done for, and grins.

He pulls his bag onto his shoulder and starts walking, feet hardly feeling a thing. His face is still stained with make-up, red lipstick slashed across his face, but he’s pulled the clips and ribbons out of his hair, and torn off the worst of the frills on his top. He probably looks a right sight, walking down a street in the middle of the night, every bit the image of a wrecked Omega.

News of his ‘dramatics’ has probably spread throughout the city. His family is rich and influential, and he’s made a mockery of them. There’s a good chance that there’s video footage of him screaming at the Alpha. It might even be on some gossip channels on the television. He laughs out loud at the thought.

Two people are walking down the street in the opposite direction to Enjolras. He can smell that one of them – at least one – is an Alpha. He feels his chest tighten a little. While it’s true he freed himself from his home, other Alphas might be more forceful, and even less inclined to take no for an answer. He pulls his bag closer to himself, hands tightening on the straps.

He hears the Alpha call out to him. “Enjolras?”

Enjolras freezes. “Yes?” he calls back, squinting in the darkness. One of the people gasps, and suddenly they’re running towards him, and the Alpha scoops him up into a hug.

“Thank God you’re safe,” the Alpha says, and Enjolras’ eyes widen as he realises who it is.

“Cosette?” he gapes. “A- And Marius? What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, of course!” Marius exclaims. “We heard what you did!”

Enjolras flushes. “You did? And you decided to come look for me because of it?”

“Of course,” Cosette says. “We were so worried what might happen to you. Come on, come with us, you’ll be safe with us.”

With this said, Cosette puts her arm around his shoulders and Marius takes his hand, and they lead him down the street. Eventually, walking in silence the entire time, they reach a lilac house on a street, and Cosette rings the bell once, sharply, before she goes in. Inside they are greeted by another Alpha, whose name Enjolras cannot remember, and who pulls Cosette into a hug before turning to Enjolras and saying, “It’s good to see you again, mon ami.”

Enjolras blinks up at the Alpha.

The Alpha smiles. “Combeferre,” she prompts. “You remember me?”

Enjolras nods. He feels bare, without shoes and in tattered clothes and smeared make-up. Cosette puts her arm back around his shoulders. She’s steady and strong, able to hold him up when he thinks his legs might give out beneath him. She helps him through into another room that’s nothing like anything he had in his own home. There are mismatching sofas with comfy-looking cushions on them, and there’s a tattered rug on the floor, a fire roaring in the hearth, and a small television set in the corner that doesn’t look like it gets used much, if the layer of dust on it says anything. There are people he recognises sitting in the living room, but not all are there.

An Omega in the corner grins when they come in and jumps up to greet them. The Omega – he’s pretty sure it’s Bahorel – declares, “That was the most badass thing I have ever seen.”

Enjolras blushes furiously. “Thank you,” he manages. “It didn’t feel that badass. It felt more like desperation.”

Bahorel smiles in understanding. “Well, of course, but the screaming ‘fuck you, it’s my life’ and the make-up thing, and the ribbons, and then you just walked out and no one stopped you, not even that Alpha of yours, and-” They stop as Enjolras visibly flinches. “I’m sorry,” they apologise. “Slip of the tongue. He’s not your Alpha. You’re not his. I’m very sorry for saying that – that was shit of me.”

Enjolras waves a hand, dismissively. “You didn’t mean to say it, it’s fine.”

Bahorel smiles and sits back down. They pat the space next to them, over by the fire, and Enjolras goes to join them, enjoying the heat the fire gives out. He holds his feet and massages his toes, hoping to get some warmth back into them.

One of the Alphas is staring at him in horror. Enjolras tries to ignore them, leaning slightly towards Bahorel, as though the Omega offers protection. The Alpha asks in a hushed voice, “Were you out on the streets _barefoot_?”

Enjolras blushes, again, and nods. He keeps his eyes trained on his feet with the Alpha looking at him with such intensity. The Alpha swoops down on him and Enjolras flinches back violently, only just missing landing in the fire, his hair getting singed slightly, the smell intense. He struggles to his feet and hurries back over to Cosette. He feels a little ashamed at using an Alpha for protection, considering what he just did in a room filled with Alphas, two of whom had a distinct claim on him, but he can’t help it.

“Don’t touch me,” he tells the Alpha, staring resolutely at the ground.

There’s a long silence. Then, to Enjolras, the Alpha says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you. I just wanted to check your feet were alright.”

“They’re fine,” Enjolras tells them.

The Alpha says, “I’m Joly, by the way. In case you don’t remember.”

Enjolras nods, not looking up.

“You must be tired,” Joly then says, softly. “Would you like me, or perhaps someone else, to show you to a room where you can sleep?”

Enjolras nods again, and then, because he has to, he clears his throat and says, “Someone else please.” He feels his face go red with embarrassment, and tears sting his eyes, but he’s so tired, and so scared of everything, and he simply doesn’t know this Alpha.

Quietly, so that only he can hear, Cosette asks, “Would you like an Omega to take you?”

Enjolras’ eyes dart up to look at her momentarily. “Please,” he says.

Cosette clears her throat and addresses the room. “Musichetta, if you’d show Enjolras to your room, please. The smell will be less abrasive that way.”

One of the Omegas – who must be Musichetta – gets to her feet. “Hello, Enjolras,” she says, smiling kindly. “Are you okay coming with me?”

Enjolras nods and accepts the hand she holds out to him. She smells soft, sweet and comforting. He follows her willingly as she guides him with steady steps towards a room two floors up that is filled with her scent. She lets him sit down on the bed before asking, “Would you like something different to sleep in? Do you have anything in your bag?”

Enjolras shakes his head. “I- I have something I can wear,” he says. He pulls his bag onto his knee and pulls out a pair of loose, cotton pants and a loose top to match. He quickly strips out of his leggings and damaged shirt and into his sleepwear.

Musichetta asks, “Would you like me to stay, or would you like some time alone?”

Enjolras considers this. “Please stay,” he decides.

She climbs onto the bed with him, helping him under the covers, and then folds herself around him like a warm blanket. He finds it very difficult to sleep, and when two other Omegas stick their heads in, asking if they can join, he welcomes them.

They come and burrow under the covers, too, and Enjolras lets their comforting scent wash over him.

Enjolras pulls the blanket closer around himself. Musichetta, Bossuet, and Bahorel lie with him. Their scent makes him feel like crying. They smell mated. He’ll never be mated. He lets out a small sob.

Bossuet wraps his arms around him. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I- I just realised something,” Enjolras says. “You- You guys are all happily mated, a-aren’t you? W- With Joly and Jehan, a- and I’ll never- I’ll never-” He breaks off to breathe in a shaky breath.

“I thought you didn’t want that,” Bossuet says, softly.

“I didn’t want to be _claimed_ , b- but you guys- you _love_ your Alphas. _You_ chose _them_ , just as much as _they_ chose _you_.”

“Oh, Enjolras,” Musichetta sighs. “You’re not alone,” she says. “You’re never alone. You have us, now. You’ll always have us. And if someone really loves you, they’re not going to let something like your age stop them. Who cares if you’re eighteen and unclaimed? Who _cares_? At least it was _you_ that chose this. Remember? No one gets to decide your life but you.”

Enjolras manages a weak smile in her direction.

“We’ve got you,” Bossuet says. “We’ve got you.”

With the three of them holding him, he manages to fall asleep. He has no idea what tomorrow will bring.

+

Tomorrow brings bacon, it seems. At least, that’s what his nose tells him when he wakes up with a drowsy Musichetta stirring beside him, and a dead-to-the-world Bahorel snoring loudly. Bossuet’s gone, presumably in search of the bacon. Enjolras burrows further into the duvet, because leaving this room means having to deal with the events of the previous day. Not to mention the horde of Alphas currently living in this house. He can smell them, even from here, and it makes his stomach turn.

Still, when Musichetta rouses herself, he goes with her. If only so he’s not on his own. He follows her all the way down the stairs, just a half-step behind her, staying close. They reach a kitchen, the smell of bacon much stronger now, but the smell of Alphas also increasing.

He sidles into the room behind Musichetta, hovering at the edge, not sure where to sit. They’re all talking loudly; passing things to each other across the table (more juice, red sauce, another rasher of bacon) and Enjolras just stands there watching, silently. Enjolras notes that Grantaire isn’t there.

Combeferre turns to Enjolras with a smile and says, “Would you like some?”

Enjolras blushes at being addressed and nods. Combeferre pulls out a chair and gestures for Enjolras to sit down, which he does, hesitantly. He receives a few smiles off the others, but for the most part they seem to not want to crowd him. He listens to them talk for a while, but eventually he clears his throat a little and asks, “Why isn’t Grantaire here?” Everyone goes deathly silent, exchanging uncomfortable looks, and Enjolras blushes, looking down at the table and saying, “Forget I asked.”

Cosette coughs, lightly, and says, “No, it’s okay. He, um, didn’t react well to what happened to you. He said he wanted some time to himself.”

Enjolras frowns, confused. “So where is he?”

“In his room, I’d wager,” Courfeyrac says. “He’s been through a lot.”

“Like what?” Enjolras asks.

Everyone is silent until Cosette takes Enjolras’ hand and says, “That’s for him to share if he wishes to.”

Enjolras blushes and mumbles an apology that no one hears as they all go back to their breakfasts. The Omega falls into silence, pulling his feet up onto his chair and trying to make himself as small as possible. Despite the kindness and welcome the other people have shown him, he still feels out of place, in the way. He quietly excuses himself not long later, eager to be away from the loud group, and goes off in search of a bathroom. It doesn’t take him long to succeed, and he stares at himself in the mirror for a long time. His skin is still stained with makeup; the lipstick doesn’t seem to have faded at all.

Turning the tap on, he starts to rub viciously at the colour, desperate to be rid of it, but it doesn’t seem to want to come off, no matter how hard he rubs. In the end, he’s only hurting himself. He can feel tears of failure starting to flood his eyes and he leans on the sink willing himself not to cry.

A light knock on the door alerts him to someone knowing he’s in here. He probably reeks of distress, and in a house of Alphas that must be a very strong smell. The voice that calls to him is not one he’d expect. “Enjolras, may I come in?” Grantaire asks.

Gathering himself, Enjolras goes and opens the door. Grantaire looks down at him for a second, slips inside, and they both close the door behind him.

“Are you alright?” Grantaire asks.

His gentle tone makes Enjolras fall apart completely, and his legs give way, leaving him crumpled on the floor, sobbing. “I can’t- I can’t get the makeup- It won’t come off,” he sobs into his hands.

Grantaire kneels down beside him, and gently touches him on the shoulder. “May I have a go?” he asks, carefully. His expression is guarded, but Enjolras can see that he’s trying to be nice. Enjolras nods and allows Grantaire to guide him to sit on the closed lid of the toilet. Grantaire pulls open a cupboard and roots around till he finds a flannel. Once he has one, he wets it with warm water, rubs soap into it, and then comes to kneel in front of Enjolras. “Tell me if I hurt you,” Grantaire says, voice soothing and warm to Enjolras’ ears.

With steady movements, Grantaire places his fingertips on Enjolras’ chin to hold him steady and then begins to rub the soapy flannel against his cheek in gentle strokes. He’s a little forceful at times, and it seems to last forever, but eventually Grantaire sits back and smiles at him. “That’s all the lipstick gone,” he says. “Would you like me to take off the mascara, too?”

Enjolras just nods, feeling like his throat has closed up. Grantaire puts the soapy flannel down and goes for a clean one, running it under the hot water, and coming to rub away the blackness on Enjolras’ eyelashes quietly. When Grantaire pulls away, putting the flannel down and going to stand on the other side of the room, Enjolras whispers, “Thank you.”

“Any time,” Grantaire says, quietly. “I’m sorry about what happened to you.”

Enjolras nods and finds himself looking at the floor. “It’s alright,” he says. “Well, it isn’t.” He swallows. “Actually it was horrible, but, um, I’ll be okay now.”

“Hey,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras’ eyes jerk up to look at him. Grantaire smiles. “Don’t let them get to you. It’s your life. Fight for every breath if you have to.” He laughs. “‘Luchar por cada bocanada de aire y enviar la muerte al carajo.’”

“I don’t know what that means,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire doesn’t offer a translation. Instead he says, “It’s from a film. You’d like it.” Then he says, “He was a bastard, anyway.”

“Who was?” Enjolras asks.

“Your suitor,” Grantaire says.

“I know,” Enjolras replies. “Maybe if it hadn’t been him…”

“Then I’m glad it was,” Grantaire says. “If only because it lead you here.”

Enjolras looks up at the Alpha. “And do you feel better?”

Grantaire blinks. “What do you mean?”

“The others,” Enjolras says, hesitantly, a little concerned he’s going to anger the Alpha by sticking his nose in. “They said… what happened to me… it- it affected you?”

Grantaire breathes out heavily. “They were correct. It’s… private,” he ends up saying.

“They didn’t tell me anything,” Enjolras promises. “Just that you wanted some time alone.”

Grantaire swallows. “I- Um,” he says. “My last-”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Enjolras says, quickly.

Grantaire nods. He’s silent for a while, and then he says in a rush, “My last relationship didn’t go very well. It was… Not good for me. I’m, um, trying to work past that. Your experience brought up some bad memories.”

“Is that why you don’t like it when Omegas submit to you?” Enjolras asks, quietly. He’s unsure if he’s pushing his luck a little, here.

Grantaire looks at him, a weighty gaze. “Yes,” he says. He leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. He looks at Enjolras after a moment. “You feel better?” he asks.

“A little,” Enjolras admits. “You’re… very calming.” He blushes. “Your scent is calming.”

Grantaire snorts. “I tend to make Omegas edgy, actually.”

“Not me,” Enjolras says, softly. He’s sorely tempted to lower his eyes, but his slight knowledge of this Alpha forces him to maintain eye contact. Grantaire raises a disbelieving eyebrow. Enjolras chuckles. “Okay, maybe me a little. But only when you get all growly. I can get used to the eye-contact thing if it makes you feel more comfortable. Actually, I kinda like that you’re not Alpha-ing out on me, making me do stuff I don’t want to, and all that.”

While he’s been speaking, a soft smile has slipped onto Grantaire’s face. “You do?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Enjolras says. He beams at Grantaire. “You’re really nice, actually. I didn’t… I didn’t get that impression the first time we met.”

Grantaire rubs at the back of his neck, bashfully looking down at the floor for a moment. “Yeah,” he says, awkwardly. “I’m not very good with people I don’t know. Particularly Alphas and Omegas. Betas are so much simpler, you know? There’s no power play there. No need to be in charge or submit. Sometimes… Sometimes I really do wish everyone was a Beta.”

Enjolras thinks on it for a moment. “I… disagree,” he says, eventually. Grantaire’s eyes snap up to meet his, looking surprised. “I like that we’re different. I _like_ being an Omega, and I like that Cosette is an Alpha and that there are Betas and that we’re different. I agree with you that the power play thing is, overall, horrible, and I hate that I’m expected to just sign my life over to an Alpha, but I like that I’m an Omega.”

“Huh,” Grantaire says, thoughtfully. “Well, I guess that’s one way of looking at it. But… I still hate that I’m an Alpha, so…”

“I don’t get why,” Enjolras says. “You’re at the _top_ , Grantaire. Everyone hopes that their kid is born an Alpha. You have total control over your life. You’re not told when to mate with someone, you’re not legally attached to anyone – you even have control over your Omega parent! You’re the most powerful.”

“Well maybe I don’t want to be powerful!” Grantaire shouts, standing upright and glowering down at Enjolras. “Maybe I hate the fact that I’m supposed to be in charge, know what I’m doing, take _care_ of an Omega.”

Enjolras desperately tried not to flinch when Grantaire started yelling, but he couldn’t help it. He presses himself back against the cistern, pulling his feet up onto the toilet seat and hunching in on himself. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean-”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Grantaire curses, and then he turns and yanks open the bathroom door and storms out of the room, leaving Enjolras shaking and scared, sitting on the toilet lid.

Enjolras’ hands press against his cheeks, hard, as he tries to stop himself from shaking. He feels like he might shake out of his skin, filled with a left-over fear of Grantaire’s shouts and regret for reacting the way he did and upsetting Grantaire. On shaky legs, Enjolras gets to his feet and faces himself in the mirror. He’s pale, and the stains of makeup have gone. He lifts his chin and stares himself down.

He deserves more than this. His eyes are a little red, but he looks into them in the mirror and he deserves more than this.

Enjolras is an Omega, but if acting like he’s not will get people to give him what he deserves then he will. There’s a bobble on the sink, and Enjolras grabs it, pulling his hair up and tying it out the way, like most Alphas do. He squares his shoulders and tries to replicate the confidence that Alphas carry in their bodies. He looks like one of them. It makes him want to cry, but he knows that this is the way forward.

When he leaves the bathroom, he bumps into Musichetta about to knock on the door – clearly sent as an Omega representative. She startles when she sees him, looking him up and down. “Ah,” she says.

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. “What?” he asks.

“You’re going to act like an Alpha?” she asks.

“Yes,” Enjolras replies. “The way we’re treated is wrong, and the way the entire system works is biased and needs fixing. It’s time to change.”

“And acting like an Alpha is the way to do that?” she asks.

“An Omega doing things that only Alphas are ‘allowed’ to do? What better way to get attention?” he replies.

She smiles, slightly. “And after that?”

“I have ideas,” he says, starting to grin back at her. “With me?” he asks her.

“I’m with you,” she says. She reaches for another abandoned bobble left on the side and ties her hair up too. It’s not neat, very much like his, as she’s never had to do it before, but she grins when she’s finished. “Let’s go tell the others.”

+

The others take it about as well as Musichetta expected – which is to say brilliantly, if with some concern. All the Alphas and Betas are in support of the movement, and the other Omegas tie up their hair too. However Combeferre says, “I hope you’re prepared for backlash.”

Enjolras lifts his chin, jutting it out, and says, “Anything’s better than what I’ve dealt with so far in my life.”

Combeferre nods. “Then I support you,” she says. Enjolras thanks her with a smile.

“We need to act fast,” Enjolras says. “I’ve got a little fame at the minute, but people will move on. If I can speak out now, with you all by my side, people will listen.”

His new friends nod fervently along with his words. Jehan says, “I’ll write an article for the website, make a few posts online and such, see if we get any reaction.”

Enjolras nods. “That would be good. Feel free to totally exploit what happened to me; I’m okay with that.”

Jehan laughs, softly. “I don’t think that will be totally necessary, but I will use your story, since you’ve allowed it.”

They’re all grinning at each other, plan falling into place, when there’s a noise in the doorway, and a voice says, “You’re going to get yourself killed,” quietly.

Everyone’s head jerks up to look but Enjolras is the only one who meets the person’s eyes, because Grantaire is looking at him and only him. Enjolras lifts his chin and stares right back at Grantaire. “So what if I do?”

Grantaire makes a small noise. “So what if you _die_? God, Enjolras, you’re _eighteen._ You’re a child, for fuck’s sake.”

Enjolras shakes his head. “I’m not a child anymore,” he says, firmly. “I can make my own decisions.”

“Is that what this is?” Grantaire asks. “Free from an Alpha’s tyranny you just have to throw yourself into the first reckless idea all because no one’s saying no?” He looks furious and Enjolras squares off his shoulders to show he’s not going to back down.

“You can’t stop me,” Enjolras spits.

Grantaire flinches back at the aggression and Enjolras has no idea who this Alpha is. Grantaire looks at him for a moment and swallows, tightly. Then he leaves the room. Enjolras seethes with anger for a moment and then storms after him up the stairs, ignoring his new friends calling after him.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Enjolras screams at Grantaire’s back, finding him going into his room.

Grantaire whirls round, furious. “My problem?” he roars, and Enjolras flinches, suddenly cold all over, instinct kicking in. His knees give out and he drops to the floor. Grantaire doesn’t even pause, glaring down at him. “You have no fucking clue about me, _Enjolras_ , and you don’t know anything about real life.” Enjolras is shaking, on his knees with his eyes screwed shut. “You think people are going to listen to a disgraced Omega? They’re going to look at you and call you bitter and twisted, and they’ll say that no one would want you, and they’ll discredit everything that ever leaves your mouth, because since when do Omegas know anything? Since when are their mouths used for more than sucking cock? You’re going to get put down because they’ll be irritated by you. Not affected, not threatened, _irritated_ , Enjolras. A nuisance that they don’t have time for and they’ll _kill you for it_.”

Enjolras is trembling weakly, as small as he can be, with his neck bared to Grantaire, on the ground before the Alpha. He’s terrified. Everything he knows is telling him that Grantaire’s going to hit him, hurt him, make him sorry. Enjolras can’t breathe.

Grantaire takes a deep breath. “Get up,” he growls. Enjolras doesn’t obey, too shaky to stand. “I said get up!” Grantaire roars.

On weak legs, Enjolras stands, keeping his eyes trained on the ground, whole body tense. He can feel tears falling down his face.

“Come here,” Grantaire orders. Enjolras flinches, and does as he’s told, scared to the death as he walks towards Grantaire. Grantaire reaches for him when Enjolras is within touching distance and Enjolras recoils terribly. Grantaire growls, letting his hand drop. In a tone that’s barely controlled Grantaire says, “Take a deep breath for me,” clearly fighting to keep his voice even.

Confused, Enjolras does as he’s told. He draws in a long breath and holds it, worried that if he does something wrong here, Grantaire will get mad again.

After a moment, Grantaire says, “Breathe out.” Enjolras does, in a rush. “Okay, good,” Grantaire says. “Keep taking those steady breaths for me, in your own pace, you’re doing great.”

Enjolras can’t look at him, but he does as he’s told, finding himself calming down as he does so.

“That’s good, well done,” Grantaire says, and his voice has become soft, gentle. He startles, suddenly, head turning in the direction of someone behind Enjolras, and he mumbles an, “I’m sorry,” and turns and goes into his room, slamming the door behind him. Enjolras collapses immediately, breaking down in sobs.

Someone – an Alpha – scoops him up in their arms and carries him up a further flight of stairs to a room, gently putting him down on the bed. Enjolras glances up to see Combeferre sitting down beside him on the bed and drawing him into her arms.

Combeferre takes a long breath, clearly thinking. Eventually she says, “If we’re going to… do this, there are some things you should know about Grantaire,” Combeferre says. “This is going to be hard on him, and you need to know why so that his actions are less impactful on you.” When Enjolras doesn’t reply, just looks at her showing he’s paying attention, Combeferre continues.

“Grantaire’s last relationship was… Well,” she says, slowly, “I could call it unhealthy, but that wouldn’t even cover half of it. He was abused, Enjolras. He dated an Alpha, and that Alpha refused to have anything less than total submission from his partner. I have nothing against Alphas who desire to submit, nor do I condemn their actions or claim that I do not see the desire, but this was… too far.

“Grantaire does not think very highly of himself, and never did, really, and he feared that if he lost this relationship, he’d be alone forever. He did everything he could to keep his boyfriend. It was nothing short of rape, Enjolras. The Alpha beat him, forced him to submit, treated him like a toy, even. When Grantaire finally came to us for help, I was scared he’d never be himself again. He can’t bear the sight of Omegas submitting to Alphas, and- Well, you’ve spoken to him. He doesn’t really know how to control his instincts or the effect he has on Omegas as an Alpha. He struggles to interact with Omegas because of their natural tendency to submit, and he fears strange Alphas.”

Enjolras remains silent, deep in thought. He shuts his eyes. He leans back into the sofa. “Oh,” he breathes out. Then he opens his eyes. “He’s really not okay, is he?” Enjolras asks without it really being much of a question.

“No,” Combeferre says. “He’s not. Which is why I had to tell you this. He likes to pretend that there is no Alpha Beta Omega, just people. This, what we’re planning on doing, really highlights the existence of the difference, and it’s… He’s not going to react well, a lot of the time. It’s not excusable, the way he sometimes treats Omegas and Alphas, but you have to understand that it’s not his fault most of the time. He’s suffered a very serious trauma and he really is doing his best. Understand that he’s our friend, and he is getting better, but it’s not… The thought of being an Alpha makes him feel sick. You can’t possibly imagine how much he loathes himself for something that is completely out of his control and not his fault at all.”

Enjolras accidentally lets out a hollow laugh. “You’d be surprised,” he says.

Combeferre gives him a sad smile. “Just something to think about.” She squeezes Enjolras tightly. “For what it’s worth, I’m really proud of you for deciding to do something.”

Enjolras is quiet for a moment, letting Combeferre hold him, but at last he says to her, “What if Grantaire’s right? Who’s going to listen to a disgraced Omega? This is a terrible plan.”

“It has flaws,” Combeferre allows, “but it’s not terrible. The whole point is Omega rights, this could only be led by Omegas, but don’t worry, you’ll have us Alphas and Betas backing you up all the way.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras says, quietly. “Do you mind if I go to sleep here?”

Combeferre gives him another squeeze. “Of course not,” she says, and lets go of him to let him get comfortable. They curl up together on the large bed, and Enjolras buries his nose in the crook of Combeferre’s neck, scenting her and smiling. She smells mated. He rubs his face against her skin a little, settling and getting comfortable, and she wraps her arms around him. “I’ve got you,” she whispers.

“Courfeyrac won’t mind, will he?” Enjolras asks.

“Not at all,” Combeferre promises. “He knows what we’re like in this house, no one is possessive, and we know who we all belong to. I don’t mean that literally, I mean emotionally. Courfeyrac is mine, but I don’t control him. I love him, and he loves me. We know that we belong to each other.”

“Oh,” Enjolras says, quietly. “I wish… I wish I could have that.”

“I know,” Combeferre says, softly. “Feuilly’s unmated,” she suggests, softly.

Enjolras nods. “He doesn’t seem my type.”

“Because he’s a Beta?” Combeferre asks.

“No,” Enjolras says. “I liked Grantaire for the short time he wasn’t yelling.”

Combeferre is silent for a moment. She says, “If you want to be with Grantaire – you can’t try to be his Omega. Not yet, at least.”

Enjolras replies, “I know. I’m not sure I’d want to be his mate anyway.”

Combeferre squeezes him tightly. “Well, if you can strike a balance with him of being a mate and not submitting, you have my approval. He’s a good person, Enjolras. He’s just been through a lot.”

“I know,” Enjolras says. He hums and snuggles in closer to Combeferre, breathing in through his nose deeply. “Will Grantaire be mad that you told me what happened to him?”

“No,” Combeferre replies. “He asked me to. When you arrived, he said that if anything happened, I should explain it to you. He trusts me not to embarrass him or be insensitive. And I think he trusts you not to use it against him.”

“Why would he trust me?” Enjolras asks.

“He’s a good person,” Combeferre says, softly. “He must know that you are too, underneath all that shouting.”

Enjolras laughs quietly into Combeferre’s neck. “Let’s sleep,” he says.

“It’s early,” Combeferre says. “Not even four yet.”

“I know,” Enjolras says. “Please stay. Please let me sleep.”

“Of course you can sleep,” Combeferre tells him. “I’m just letting you know that I might not be able to. I’ll stay though, if you want.”

“I do,” Enjolras says. “If it’s not too much an inconvenience.”

“It’s not,” Combeferre promises. She shifts them both so that they’re lying horizontally, and she wraps her arms around his middle, holding him against her chest. “It’s going to be alright.”

Before he drops off to sleep, Enjolras whispers, “If Grantaire comes to talk while I’m asleep, tell him I’m not angry. Tell him I forgive him.”

“I will,” Combeferre vows.

+

Enjolras wakes to the sounds of talking, low voices. He stirs, snuffling against Combeferre a little and he lets out a soft pleased noise at the scent of her. The voices go silent, and Enjolras opens his eyes slowly. His eyes meet Grantaire’s, stood in the room, and Grantaire’s staring at him, mouth slack.

“What?” Enjolras asks, sleep muddled.

Grantaire opens his mouth a little more to say something, and then closes it, seemingly unable to either speak or stop staring at Enjolras. Combeferre runs a hand through Enjolras’ hair, which has come undone at some point during his slumber. “Grantaire just came upstairs to apologise,” she explains.

Grantaire snaps to, then. He nods, quickly. “I did.” He swallows. “I’m really sorry for… yelling… and, um, scaring you. I don’t mean to do it. I can’t help it – and I know that’s no excuse and it doesn’t make up for the fact that I _did_ do it, but I really am… sorry.”

Enjolras rubs the sleep out of his right eye as he forces himself into an upright position. “It’s okay,” he says. “I understand that it’s hard for you to control your instincts.”

Combeferre edges out from underneath Enjolras, climbing out of the bed. “I’ll just be in the bathroom across the hall,” she says, softly. “I’ll hear if anyone starts yelling.”

The Alpha and Omega are left staring at each other as she leaves the room, and Enjolras self-consciously tucks his hair behind his ear. “What?” he asks, almost defensively.

Grantaire blinks. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t mean to stare.” He drops his gaze, staring at the floor instead. He chances a glance back up at Enjolras, to see the slight Omega frowning at him. He shrugs. “It’s just the hair… and the… you looked _soft_. I- You looked very Omega. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Understanding suddenly, Enjolras shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he says, quickly. He half-smiles, a little rueful. “In all honesty, I was attracted to you too, back when you were taking my make-up off?”

Grantaire startles. “Really?” he asks.

Enjolras chuckles. “Sure.” He tugs at the ends of his hair, feeling a little shy all of a sudden. Then he sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose. “Say, how old are you, Grantaire?” he asks, wearily.

Smiling, Grantaire answers, “I’m twenty-four, Enjolras.”

Enjolras thinks for a second. “So you’re six years older than me?” he asks.

“I think so?” Grantaire says. He quickly counts on his fingers. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

Enjolras leans back against the headboard and looks down at his knees. “Do you know how many years older than me Tholomyès was?” he asks. He looks up at Grantaire. Grantaire shakes his head, looking a little sad. Enjolras grimaces as he says, “Twenty-seven.” Grantaire’s eyes fill with pity. “I would have been mated to a forty-five year old.” The thought makes his stomach turn. He puts his head in his hands. “I hate him. I hate _them_. All of them. I hate all of them so fucking much, you know?”

“I know,” Grantaire says, sounding somewhat hesitant. He makes an aborted sound, and Enjolras looks up at him. He makes a vague gesture. “May I sit on the bed with you?” he asks. “I- I think I would be more relaxed if we’re at the same level. I don’t like standing over you.”

Enjolras makes a vague shrug and moves over to give Grantaire some room to sit down. He pats the bed. “Come join me, equal of mine.”

Grantaire smiles. He comes to sit down beside the Omega. He takes a deep breath and lets it out heavily. He leans his head back and then tilts it to look at Enjolras. Enjolras copies his actions. They look at each other from only a few inches apart. “Enjolras,” Grantaire says, slowly, “I’m not going to pretend that I agree with what you’re going to do. I’m not going to act like I’m not terrified for you, or like this isn’t going to set me off in a thousand different ways. But I’m also not going to act like I don’t know how important this is. The way things are… The way _we_ are, as a people, it’s wrong. We both know it, from both sides of the story. Something’s gotta change. Now, I do wish that it didn’t have to be you to do it, because I’m so scared you’re going to get hurt, and I really don’t want that to happen, God only knows why I’m so attached to you, but I’m proud of you. I’m so proud that you’re going to stand up and try to fix things. I could never… do that. You’re amazing.”

“You could stand with me, Grantaire,” Enjolras says. “You wouldn’t have to do anything but be right there with me.”

“Oh, I’ll be there,” Grantaire says, wryly. “You couldn’t keep me away.”

“Then you are doing something, Grantaire. _That’s_ doing something,” Enjolras says, eyes lighting up. “Don’t say you’re not brave.”

“I’m not,” Grantaire says. “I’m really not brave, Enjolras.” He looks away, looking smaller, and a blotchy red spreads up his neck and cheeks.

“I think you are,” Enjolras says. Carefully, he reaches out and puts his hand on Grantaire’s thigh. “You left your last relationship, didn’t you? That’s brave. You came to apologise to me, and I think that’s brave. You’re willing to join me in my attempt to change things, even though you don’t believe in my chances of success, and I think that’s brave too. Never say that you’re not brave, Grantaire, because everyone around you knows that it’s a lie.”

Grantaire turns to look at him, and there’s something almost horribly honest in his eyes, and before Enjolras has a chance to think about anything, Grantaire surges forwards and presses their lips together, one hand jumping up to cup Enjolras’ face.

Enjolras freezes and accidentally let’s out something of a squeak. Grantaire kisses him for a number of seconds before pulling away, and Enjolras stays as still as possible, staring at Grantaire with wide-eyes. “Um,” he says. “What?”

“Sorry,” Grantaire says, with a sigh. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Enjolras tells him, voice a little too high. Coming back to himself, he quickly skitters out of bed, going to stand in the open space of the room, hands shaking a little as he tries to settle himself. “Don’t do that again.”

Grantaire watches him, looking completely calm. “Alright, I won’t. Not unless you ask me to.”

“I won’t,” Enjolras says, shaking out his hands to try and calm his nerves.

“Alright then,” Grantaire says.

“Good,” Enjolras says. “Glad we cleared that up.” He fidgets, casting a look towards the door. He gestures towards it, vaguely. “I’m gonna… go.” He makes a move for the door.

“Wait!” Grantaire says, leaning forwards on the bed. “I’m sorry, Enjolras. I promise I won’t kiss you again without your say-so.”

Enjolras looks at him, searching his face. He nods. “I know.” He turns to leave, hesitates, and then turns back. “I- I really like you, Grantaire, when you’re not scaring the hell out of me, and I want you to know that I might give you my say-so. At some point. Just so you know.”

Enjolras then panics and gives Grantaire an impulsive half-bow and a little wave, and then darts out of the room, all but sprinting down the stairs, back to a lower floor where all the other residents of the house are.

At the foot of the stairs, he collides into Joly and they grab him round the waist to keep him from going flying. Enjolras bursts into giggles once he’s steady.

Joly looks at him in amusement. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” Enjolras promises, trying to stifle his giggles.

“You smell like Alpha,” Joly tells him, raising an eyebrow.

“That’ll be Combeferre, we were just napping together,” Enjolras says, promptly, smiling up at Joly.

Joly gives him a doubtful look. “Doesn’t smell like Combeferre,” they say in a sing-song way. They lower their voice conspiratorially. “Smells like our resident grump.”

Enjolras blushes instantly. “G-Grantaire? Why would I smell like Grantaire?” he asks.

Joly seems to be finding this very entertaining. “You tell me, kid.”

Feeling like he’s going to burst, Enjolras glances round, and then leans in and says quietly, “Grantaire just kissed me.” He beams at Joly.

Joly laughs. “That’s great, kid. Let me know how that all works out for you.”

Enjolras flushes and shakes his head. “No, we’re not- Grantaire and I-” He pauses. “We’re not _mating_ or anything, we’ve just both acknowledged the possibility,” he finishes with a wide smile.

Joly ruffles his hair. “I’m very happy for you both.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras says, grinning. He smiles at the ground for a moment, before pulling himself together, clearing his throat and looking back up at Joly. “Right, so I’ve been thinking that we need to do something big and loud to get some attention – other than my eighteenth, you know – so I think that we should organise a protest. It doesn’t even have to be well organised, get us lot and a few signs out on the high street and see what happens.”

“We’ll get arrested,” Joly warns him.

“Potentially,” Enjolras agrees, grinning at the Alpha, “but it’ll spread the word.”

+

“You sure about this?” Cosette asks Enjolras, softly, two weeks later while they’re standing on the pavement at the side of the road. “There’s a lot of people here, it’s midday, this could go badly.”

“Just in time for the two o’clock news, huh,” Enjolras says grinning, and then he jumps out into the middle of the street. “Equality for Omegas!” he screams, like a war-cry. Cosette takes a second to watch and then joins him on the street.

“Equality for Omegas!” she shouts, as loud as her soft voice can manage.

Down the street, their friends join them on the road, adding their voices to the cry, attracting the attention of the shoppers. Éponine appears beside Cosette and Enjolras, and the two of them lift him onto their shoulders, and Enjolras balances there, hair pinned back while the Alphas’ usually restrained hair flies free, and he shouts, “Why should we be lesser than them? Why can’t we lead our own lives? Why should we have to cower in the wake of _Alphas_?”

People are staring, stopping in their tracks to watch the strange mix of Alphas, Betas, and Omegas shout about equality.

“Why should I have to sign away my own freedom to another person, just because of the way I was born?” Enjolras shouts, eyes fierce. “Why don’t I get the right to live, love, and _die_ the way _I_ want to? I refuse to be controlled; I refuse to be ruled; I _refuse_ to have my life dictated to me! I won’t stand for this, and neither should you!”

“Alphas,” another voice shouts, and Enjolras turns his head to see Combeferre, her eyes ignited and her hair a halo around her head, jumping up onto the bonnet of a parked car. “Alphas,” she screams, “do you love your Omegas? Or do you take advantage of them? Do you look at them – these _people_ that have been told their whole lives that they must obey, submit, serve – and do you take and take and take?”

“Omegas,” Bahorel yells, joining Combeferre on the car, “consider a life where you’re free to live and love as _you_ want to. Whether that’s in a similar way to the love and life that you have now, or whether it’s completely independent, wouldn’t you like to have some _choice_ in the matter? Take that chance – get your freedom and free will back! Stand with us!”

Enjolras lights up as Courfeyrac joins them. “Betas,” he roars, “how long have we stood by and let our brothers, our sisters, our friends be crushed by society? We are as much to blame as anybody – we’re not exempt from the blame because we’re safely in the middle. We, too, choose to think of ourselves as above Omegas, happily letting them do the menial work that we think beneath us! Help us raise Omegas to be equals amongst us. Stop letting Alphas lord it over us all! Equality for all!”

“Equality for all!” Musichetta screams.

“Equality for Omegas!” Joly roars.

“Equality!” a number of voices cry out.

Enjolras grins as he sees heads turning, people muttering, a few Omegas out on the street exchanging glances and a few Betas looking intrigued. He can see the people that came because they heard about the protest, those that already – in some way – agree with the message that they’re trying to send, and have come with intention to support them.

Enjolras’ group starts to move down the street, picking up a chant of equality, and are thrilled to find strangers joining them – even some Alphas on the street. It’s mainly Betas and unattached Omegas that add to their group, but there are a few Alphas, and that means everything to Enjolras. He jumps down off Éponine and Cosette’s shoulders and rushes off to link arms with Musichetta and Courfeyrac as the group continues to chant. He’s grinning, alive and full of thrill as the group moves as one.

Someone grabs his arm, tearing him away from the group, and Musichetta and Courfeyrac turn in horror to see him dragged away from them. Enjolras looks up at his assaulter, to see the familiar face of his father, dragging his heels to make the both of them stop.

“You’re disgracing our family name,” the Alpha growls at him, looking furious.

A few weeks ago, this would have been enough to send Enjolras cowering, but now, he draws himself up to his full height – which, admittedly, is not very much – and yanks his arm back. He grins, viciously. “Good,” he growls back. Looking his father straight in the eye, he lifts his voice to cry out, “Equality for Omegas!”

His father spits at him and Enjolras determinedly doesn’t flinch. “You’re no son of mine,” Enjolras’ father says venomously.

“I wouldn’t want to be,” Enjolras shoots back. He turns on his heel and stalks away, trying to find his way back to his friends in the chaos that their protest has caused.

He gets bustled about, people much larger than him moving about on the street, making it hard for him to get through, and he nearly falls after one hard shove, but someone’s arms wrap around him, keeping him from hitting the floor.

“Careful there, kid. Wouldn’t want you to get trampled,” Grantaire says, grinning. He looks around. “This is quite something.”

Enjolras beams at the Alpha, relieved beyond words that he’s here. “I’m so glad you came!” he exclaims.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Grantaire says, and then takes his hand. “Let’s get to the others.” He pulls Enjolras through the crowds, looking back at him every few steps to check he’s still on his feet, and neither one of them can stop grinning.

They find most of the group pretty quickly, and Combeferre claps Enjolras on the arm. “This is fucking brilliant,” she says, laughing. Naturally as soon as she’s said that they hear the piercing sounds of police sirens, and the smiles drop from their faces faster than lightning.

“Shit,” Grantaire says. “We should get out of here.”

Enjolras looks up at him. “We need to find all the others first. I’m not leaving without them.”

“I’m not letting you get _arrested_ , Enjolras,” Grantaire tells him, firmly.

“That’s not your call to make, Grantaire,” Enjolras replies, finally pulling his hand out of Grantaire’s. “You can leave, I won’t hold it against you, but I’m not leaving ‘til I know we’re all safe.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Enjolras. You’re going to get yourself thrown in a jail,” Grantaire replies, grabbing his arm.

Enjolras shakes him off, shooting him an irritated look. “You’re not my _Alpha_ , Grantaire.”

Grantaire flinches like he was shot. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words must get lost somewhere inside, because in the end he just closes his mouth again. He shakes his head, wordlessly. He manages a, “Fuck you, Enjolras,” and then he turns on his heel and pushes away through the crowd, away from Enjolras.

Enjolras watches him go, steels himself, and then turns to go the opposite way. Combeferre falls into step beside him. “You alright?” she asks.

Enjolras nods, tightly. He grabs Joly and Bossuet as he goes past then, getting their attention. “Clear out. No one’s getting arrested. Get Musichetta.” They nod and head off, quickly, and Enjolras turns back to Combeferre. “You know he kissed me the other day?” he asks, and then adds, “And this is _so_ not the time to be talking about this.”

“I did know, he told me, and sure, we’ll talk about it when we get home,” Combeferre allows, grabbing an overexcited Courfeyrac who bounds up to them. “Come on, we’re going,” she tells him.

“What?” Courfeyrac exclaims, distressed. “Things are just getting fun!”

“You’re not getting arrested, love,” Combeferre tells him, raising an eyebrow.

“Why not?” Courfeyrac asks, pouting a little.

“Because I’d feel obligated to get arrested alongside you, and I don’t feel like it today,” Combeferre says, shrugging.

“Fair,” Courfeyrac allows, and lets Combeferre put an arm around him, keeping him close.

At the same time, Enjolras is telling Feuilly and Bahorel and Cosette that it’s time to go, and Cosette turns away to pull Éponine down off a car roof and get her out of the protest. Cosette turns to frown at everyone. “Has anyone seen Marius?” she asks, sounding worried all of a sudden.

“No,” comes the chorus response, and Cosette bites her lip, standing on her tiptoes to look over the heads of the people around them.

“Enjolras!” someone shouts, then, and the group turns to see Grantaire rushing towards them, looking a little panicked. “Enjolras!”

“What?” Enjolras asks, as Grantaire reaches them. “What is it, Grantaire?”

“Marius and Joly – they’ve been arrested!”

+

It took a while to calm Cosette and Musichetta down from their instantaneous anxiety for their mates, and for the large group to wrestle their way off the street and down a side-alley to relative safety. Once there, the group immediately launches into an argument about what should be done.

“Joly’s an Alpha, there’s no way they’ll hold them,” Jehan says, rolling xir eyes.

“They might!” says an extremely agitated Bossuet, tugging at the ends of their hair, that’s fallen out of its bun.

“They won’t,” Combeferre assures them, sounding sure and confident. “And if they do, you know they won’t treat them badly.”

“What about Marius?” Cosette exclaims. “He’s going to get locked up for sure! God knows what he did.”

“Cosette, calm down,” Courfeyrac says. “He’s unmated, which will make it harder for us to get him released as his grandfather certainly won’t. But he lives with us, so we might be able to use that.”

“Sure!” Bossuet says. “We’ll tell them Cosette’s got a claim on him. That she’ll be his mate as soon as he’s eighteen, anyway. That would work right? Say his father’s dead and that his grandfather passed him on to the care of an Alpha already.” He beams round at the others, sure in his plan.

The Alphas all exchange looks. “It could work,” Combeferre muses. “We ought to give it a try, at least.”

“If Musichetta and Bossuet go pleading for their Alpha back, and Cosette makes it clear that she’s got a claim on Marius, it shouldn’t take long at all to get them out,” Feuilly says, shrugging.

“I don’t like this,” Enjolras says, a little quieter than the rest of them, but he still gets heard.

Bossuet rounds on him. “You think I _want_ to go up to the police and act like an Omega who _needs_ his Alpha back so he doesn’t come to any _harm_? No! None of us do. Cosette doesn’t want to have to walk in there and stake her _claim_ on Marius, but this is what we have to do to get our friends back, so suck it up, Enjolras.”

Enjolras flushes but holds his head steady. “I’m sorry,” he says, sincerely. “You’re right.”

“You’re damn right I am,” Bossuet growls.

Impulsively, Enjolras growls back, high on adrenaline and anger. The aggressive sound clearly makes Bossuet furious, and Enjolras sees the other Omega stiffen and prepare for a fight, automatically. Enjolras, having never been in a fight in his life, growing up surrounded by servants and guards, flinches away. He swallows tightly, as Combeferre wraps her arm around Bossuet, settling him down, and Enjolras feels someone put their hand on his shoulder.

With Combeferre’s soft words to Bossuet in the background, Enjolras looks up to see Grantaire looking down at him worriedly. “You alright?” Grantaire asks in a low voice.

“Fine, thank you,” Enjolras replies, somewhat stiffly. “What? You’re not mad at me anymore? That was quick.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire chides, gentle, “stop looking for a fight. The fight’s over. We’ve just got to get our friends.”

Enjolras, suitably chastened, looks down at the ground and nods. “Sorry,” he mutters, toeing at the gravel beneath their feet.

“It’s alright, nothing wrong with sticking up for your beliefs, kid,” Grantaire says. “Just pick the right time and place. Bossuet’s upset already.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras says, voice a little hoarse. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll apologise later.”

“Good idea,” Grantaire says, and his voice sounds like he’s smiling, so Enjolras looks up and feels a surge of happiness run through him at the toothy grin Grantaire’s giving him. Enjolras smiles back, helplessly. Grantaire’s hand is still on Enjolras’ shoulder, and he gives him a squeeze before dropping it. Enjolras immediately misses the warmth and the weight of it.

“Alright, people, let’s go get our friends!” Courfeyrac yells, pumping one fist in the air and inciting a chorus of groans and eye-rolls from the rest of the group. They do, however, pull themselves together in order to head over to the police station, Musichetta and Bossuet clasping hands and Cosette tying her hair up in order to look more stereotypically Alpha.

The walk to the police station is a little subdued and by the time they’re there, Enjolras is feeling appallingly guilty for getting two of his new friends arrested. Combeferre wraps an arm around his shoulders and gives him a squeeze, encouraging a smile out of him, and Enjolras supposes that’s her way of saying it’s not his fault this happened.

At the police station, they decide it’s best to not all go in, and as Bossuet, Musichetta, and Cosette head inside, a few members of the group decide to head home. Enjolras goes with them, wanting nothing more than to curl up on the sofa for a bit.

None of them talk on the walk home, and Enjolras sinks further into his own misery with every step. Today has seemed to want nothing more than to drag him down. He was feeling so powerful, invincible, at the start, and then his father showed up, and then he fought with Grantaire, and then his friends got arrested.

Feuilly unlocks the door and leads the way inside, and Enjolras flops down onto one of the squishy sofas in the living room, putting his back to them all.

“You alright?” a timid voice asks from behind him. Enjolras shrugs. “Mind if I lay down with you?” the voice asks, and Enjolras twists round to see Jehan standing behind him, looking exhausted. Years of life without these people has taught him that he should turn down the Alphas offer, but from what he’s seen in this house, this is perfectly normal, and honestly? Enjolras would give anything to be held right now.

“Please,” Enjolras says, voice coming out frailer than he’d like, and he curls in on himself as Jehan settles in behind him, arm wrapping around his waist and holding him closely. After a moment of silence, Enjolras relaxes against xem and whispers, “This is nice. Thank you.”

“Want to talk about it?” Jehan asks, gently.

“Not right now, thank you,” Enjolras replies.

They settle against one another, Enjolras letting his eyes slide shut in comfort. He feels like he’s drifting, floating on waves, utterly at peace and able to forget all the emotions seeing his father dragged up.

What feels like a lifetime later, someone comes into the room and lets out a huff of amusement. “Grantaire’s not going to like that,” they say.

“Stuff it, Éponine,” Jehan replies. Xir voice is soft around the edges, a little slurred, like xe’s drifting off to sleep, too.

“Well, he’s back, I’m just giving you a little warning,” she says.

Enjolras would have to be numb all over to not feel the way Jehan tenses at that what with how their bodies are completely pressed up against one another. “What’s wrong?” Enjolras asks, or tries to ask as it comes out more as a mumble.

“Nothing,” Jehan says, soothingly, “go back to sleep.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Enjolras manages to say, but he’s so close to being asleep the words probably aren’t cohesive.

“Okay, kid,” Jehan says, gently.

Enjolras sighs, happily, feeling warm and oddly satisfied, tucking his head under Jehan’s chin and debating, idly, rolling over so he can stick his nose into Jehan’s chest. Distantly, as though in a dream, he’s aware of a group of people coming into the living room, and he’s also aware of the room going deathly silent, and then he’s aware of Jehan trying to move, and Enjolras rolls over and clings to xem, burying his face in the crook of Jehan’s neck and whining in an attempt to make xem stay put.

And then Jehan’s being dragged out from under him, and Enjolras is confused and blinking slowly, trying to wake himself up properly to piece together what’s going on. There’s shouting and he feels so cold from where Jehan’s body was only seconds ago.

“What’s… happ’ning?” Enjolras manages to string together, pushing himself into more or less an upright position, rubbing at his eyes before peering around at the other people all stood in the room. “Grantaire?” he asks, confused, as his eyes land on the Alpha holding Jehan by the collar. “What… What are you doing?” Enjolras asks, frowning.

Quietly, Combeferre says, “R, remember what we talked about,” in the silence that follows, and Grantaire’s eyes dart between Combeferre, Enjolras, and Jehan, and then he’s letting go of Jehan and rushing from the room, and Enjolras still doesn’t understand what’s happening.

In the silence, Éponine says, “I did tell you he wouldn’t like it.”

“He doesn’t have any right not to like it,” Jehan snaps at her, even as he tries to calm down Bahorel who looks quite like they’d like to go after Grantaire. “Besides, he _knows_ I’m mated.”

“I don’t understand,” Enjolras tries to tell them, but his voice is small and he’s so tired and nobody’s listening to him.

“You know he’s not got it together, Jehan. Why do you have to go and antagonise him?” somebody asks, sounding angry.

“I was just taking care of Enjolras!” Jehan exclaims. “He was upset and I was just trying to help.”

“It’s not your place to help!”

“Like hell it’s not! I’m his friend, aren’t I? What? Just because I’m not his Alpha, I can’t be concerned about his wellbeing? That’s bullshit. You’re all buying into society’s bullshit, I can’t believe you!” Jehan shouts, sounding both furious and disappointed at them all. “Combeferre did the exact same thing I did and I don’t see you all jumping down her throat!”

“Enough!” Enjolras screams, standing on the sofa. “Enough!”

The room stills, everyone turning to look at him in shock, heads whipping round.

Brow creased, frown tugging at the corners of his mouth, Enjolras demands, “Someone tell me what the hell is going on.”

There’s silence for a moment longer, as the group exchange glances, before, gently, Feuilly speaks up. “Since you arrived, Enjolras, Grantaire has been having a hard time not… thinking of you as his. Especially these past couple of weeks. Don’t think ill of him for this, he doesn’t intend to do anything, but it’s difficult for him.”

Enjolras frowns, trying to understand desperately. “So, he thinks… I’m his… Omega?”

The group all starts nodding at the same time, and if Enjolras wasn’t in so much shock it would look quite humorous.

“He’s confused?” Enjolras asks. “So, his hormones are telling him that he and I, that is, we are… mated?”

“Yes, exactly,” Combeferre says, carefully.

“Oh,” Enjolras says, quietly, almost to himself. He sits down, legs folding underneath him. He frowns down at the ground, thinking. “I… Do you think he really cares for me, or is it just chemical?”

“Well, _everything_ is just chemical-” Joly stars, but they get cut off by Musichetta elbowing them in the stomach. A number of people shush them, too. Courfeyrac and Cosette sit down on either side of Enjolras on the sofa. Cosette puts her hand on his knee.

“Enjolras,” she says, slowly. “Even if Grantaire truly does care for you, which, I believe, he does, I would not advise you to enter this relationship. Enjolras, both you and Grantaire have been through traumatic experiences, and his has left him, for want of a kinder word, unstable. I do not think that he is the best person for you to be with at this point in your life.”

“But I could help him,” Enjolras interrupts. “I don’t want to be treated like a thing or a decoration, and _he_ doesn’t want Omegas to submit to him. How is that not a good idea?”

“In the sense that he has no control over his emotions and could react badly to you standing up against him, and in the sense that you do have a tendency to submit.” Cosette sighs. “I’m sorry, Enjolras, but we’ve seen it, we know you. You’re not used to standing up against Alphas yet, and until you are confident in who you are and aren’t going to cower every time an Alpha raises their voice, it can’t work.”

Combeferre clears her throat. “Can Courf, Cosette, and I have a moment with Enjolras alone, please?”

The others start to nod and head out immediately, without protest, and Combeferre stops Joly to ask them and Bossuet and Musichetta to check in on Grantaire. Joly gives her a smile and a nod and follows the rest out the door. Combeferre comes to kneel in front of Enjolras.

“It’s complicated,” she starts. “Grantaire hates people submitting to him, but he also is triggered quite majorly when he’s told what to do in a harsh way, whether from an Alpha or not. It would be difficult for you to maintain the balance of not submitting but also not pushing back against him so hard that he suffers a major depressive episode, or for him to become anxious and scared again. Grantaire has suffered, Enjolras. We need to take his suffering into account here. All these problems don’t even begin to cover how _you_ would find the relationship hard.”

Enjolras nods, silently. “I understand,” he says, after a moment. “So you don’t think I should pursue this, no matter what my feelings are?”

“We can’t tell you what to do, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac says, “and maybe we’re wrong – maybe being in love and having someone to care for him intimately could do him some good – but maybe we’re not. And the fallout from that would be… very hard.”

Enjolras sighs. He puts his head in his hands. “Well, where do you stand on me being his friend? Friendship’s as good as romance, right?”

“Right,” Combeferre says, smiling at him. “It would come with a lot of similar issues, but it would minimise the potential amount of submission. It’s still not the best idea, though. You understand how hard it is for non-mated Alphas and Omegas to be friends.”

“You’re joking, right?” Enjolras asks. “That’s ridiculous.” He sighs, getting to his feet. “I’m going to go talk to him; I’d appreciate some privacy.” Before any of them have a chance to say anything or stop him, he slips out of the room into the corridor beyond. He makes his way up the stairs silently, smiling at Éponine when he passes her on the stairs.

He arrives at Grantaire’s door and knocks twice.

“What?” comes the gruff reply.

“It’s Enjolras,” the Omega replies, a little nervously. “May I come in?”

There’s a very long pause from inside the room, and Enjolras shifts his weight onto one leg, twisting his fingers together while he waits anxiously. He’s about to call Grantaire’s name, when Grantaire says, “Come in,” sounding tired.

Enjolras slowly opens the door, the hinge creaking as it swings inwards. Grantaire has his back to the door, curled up on his bed in a small ball, blanket half-pulled over him. “Grantaire,” Enjolras says, quietly.

Grantaire doesn’t turn to look, but he moves his arm and holds his hand out to Enjolras behind him, and Enjolras doesn’t hesitate. He crosses the room in a few quick strides, falling onto the bed and clasping Grantaire’s hand. He lies down behind him, wrapping himself around him, keeping their hands held tightly.

“Grantaire,” he says again. Grantaire turns over and buries his face in Enjolras’ neck, breathing in deeply and wrapping his arm around his waist. “R,” Enjolras says, softly. “My lovely R,” he says, and Grantaire shudders and presses in closer.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire murmurs against his skin.

“It’s okay,” Enjolras tells him. “We’ll work this all out.”

“We can’t be together,” Grantaire says, words contradicting his actions. “We just can’t. You don’t know how to not be submissive, and I don’t know how to _exist_. There’s no balance in either of us. Either I push too far and get triggered when you submit, or you push too far and I get triggered when _I_ submit. It’s not working, Enjolras.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Enjolras tells him, brushing a hand over Grantaire’s hair.

“Nothing to say,” Grantaire replies. “I want us to be together, believe me, I do, but we can’t be. We’re not good for each other at the moment.”

“I know,” Enjolras says. He tightens his jaw and glares at the ceiling, suddenly angry. “I’m going to fix it,” he says. “I’m going to change everything.”

+

A few weeks later, it’s Marius’ birthday, a cause for celebration throughout Enjolras’ new home. He’s really started to fit in, and with his help their advocacy for Omega equality has increased tenfold, as has the support they’ve received from the community. It’s magnificent, and every day gives Enjolras new hope for the future – his future, and the future of Omegas everywhere.

And then it’s Marius’ birthday, and Enjolras has a really bad day.

Marius is turning eighteen, and from the moment they all wake up, everyone’s making jokes about Cosette claiming him, lewd jokes from Courfeyrac and Bahorel and Bossuet and Éponine, and less impolite ones from Jehan in particular, but teasing none the less. That’s nothing compared to the sweet sentimental comments, either, and Enjolras spends the day in silence as he listens to Musichetta gush about the joys of being claimed to Marius.

It’s hard to bear.

Enjolras keeps smiling all day. The smile isn’t real.

After dinner, Marius and Cosette sneak away to Cosette’s room, and silently, Enjolras follows them. Standing outside her door, he hears her say, “I claim you, Omega.”

Marius replies, “And I claim _you_ , Alpha,” making Cosette laugh, bright and wonderful. Marius chuckles, and adds, “I accept your claim, Alpha. And I love you, Cosette.”

“I love you too, Marius,” she replies.

Enjolras smiles and he hears Cosette laugh and a slight thump that can only be the two of them falling onto her bed. He hears them kiss, and the smile is suddenly much harder to keep on his face. It’s a battle to stop the corners of his mouth from turning down and his body starts to shake. He puts a hand over his mouth, and clenches the other one tightly, trying to get control over himself. He takes a step back, directly into a warm body with arms that wrap around him and take over as his legs give way.

“I’ve got you,” Grantaire murmurs, low and gentle. “I’ve got you.”

“R,” Enjolras manages. He opens his mouth to speak, but Grantaire shushes him.

“Let’s give them some privacy,” Grantaire says, and helps Enjolras to his feet properly, keeping an arm around him as he carefully leads him up the stairs to his own room. He sits Enjolras down on the edge of the bed and plants a kiss on his forehead.

“It’s not fair,” Enjolras tells him, voice steady.

“I know it’s not,” Grantaire replies, sitting down beside him.

Enjolras grits his teeth and clenches his fists. “You know what I hate the most?” he bursts out. “I hate how upset I am about all this. I shouldn’t care. The whole concept of being claimed is abhorrent and oppressive, and even still every part of me is _screaming_ to be claimed. I want to be held and loved and _claimed_. To _belong_. And I hate it.”

Grantaire is silent beside him.

Enjolras’ entire body convulses quite violently and abruptly, and his mouth is hanging open as he struggles to breathe. There are no tears, only gasping breaths and his hands hover over his chest, not quite touching as they go through the motions of clutching at himself without ever really making contact. One hand comes to press over his mouth, and then the other follows, pressing down hard as his eyes squeeze shut and he fights the emotion that’s crushing him. He curls in on himself, and a warm, strong hand rests on his spine, giving Enjolras something to anchor himself by.

He forces himself to pull his hands away and desperately fights for breath, his sadness and pain pouring out of him, and Grantaire makes a soft sound beside him – continuous soft sounds that Enjolras is starting to piece together as words, and he’s being kind, gentle, words like “breathe,” and “I’ve got you,” slipping through Enjolras’ defences.

“It’s okay,” Grantaire whispers, and his mouth is right by Enjolras’ ear. His forehead presses to Enjolras’ temple. “I’m here. You’re not alone. You’re safe, and everything is fine. Just breathe. You’re doing really well, I promise.”

It takes him a while, but he comes back to himself, and he’s exhausted. He collapses into Grantaire’s arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, hoarsely. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess. I… I was trying to keep it together. It’s their day, I should be happy for them.”

Grantaire hushes him, soothingly. “You can be upset. It’s okay. Just you and me here. You can be upset.”

Enjolras breathes in Grantaire’s scent and lets his body relax into the other man’s touch.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, like he has to push the name out of his mouth, “there’s something I need to say. I… I need you to know that you’re not going to be alone forever. You’re still going to love and be loved. You still can be claimed even if you’re older than eighteen. Beyond socially, there is no expiration date on being claimed or being in love. I know you know this, but I need you to remember it. You’re not going to be alone. And… if you want me, when we’re ready, God, Enj, you’ve got me. You’ve got me.”

Enjolras doesn’t reply, but he lets Grantaire’s words sink into him, wrap around him like armour, and a secret smile slips onto his face for just a moment.

Grantaire takes a deep breath. “Anyway, I just needed to say that. But save the world, first, right?” he says.

Enjolras looks up at him at that, and his smile is no longer secret, no longer just for himself. It’s for Grantaire too, when he says, “Fix ourselves, love each other, save the world along the way.”

Grantaire simply beams at him, and when a tear slips down his cheek, he laughs bashfully and Enjolras brushes it away, his own eyes brimming with tears.

Enjolras is the one to lean up and kiss Grantaire at that moment, and Grantaire gently cups his face to kiss him back, if only for a second.

“You have me too,” Enjolras whispers. “I’m yours. For better or for worse.”

“For better or for worse,” Grantaire echoes, and he presses their foreheads together, “I’m all yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> in case you got a little lost, here are the genders and A/B/O/ types of each character:  
> Alpha:  
> Grantaire – he/him  
> Combeferre – she/her  
> Jehan – xe/xem  
> Eponine – she/her  
> Cosette – she/her  
> Joly – they/them 
> 
> Beta:  
> Feuilly – he/him  
> Courfeyrac – he/him
> 
> Omega: Enjolras – he/him  
> Bahorel – they/them  
> Marius – he/him  
> Musichetta – she/her  
> Bossuet – he/him
> 
> also i have a writing blog (theskyis-forever) if you want to send me a prompt or i have a normal blog (nerds-are-cool) if you wanna chat or check me out or w/e
> 
> alternatively comment below about anything tbh i'd love to hear from you! :)  
> and, if you enjoyed this maybe consider: [buying me a coffee?](http://ko-fi.com/A831F9U)


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